


Revenant

by GrumpyGhostOwl



Series: Battle of the Planets: 2163 [23]
Category: Battle of the Planets
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 12:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6424234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyGhostOwl/pseuds/GrumpyGhostOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after Lucy "died"?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenant

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fui.Sum](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/186862) by Naa-Dei Nikoi. 



> I wondered what would have happened after Lucy "died." There would have been a clean-up, of course, and probably a cover story for the media to explain why a woman with metal skin fell to her apparent demise after plunging through a brick wall. Then what? Would Galaxy Security have simply given Lucy a nice budget-priced funeral and got on with life? Or would they have wanted to know more? Inspired by 'Fui.Sum' by Naa-Dei Nikoi. I took the concept that little bit further over the edge. As to the title, this story has been collecting dust on my hard drive quite literally for years, long before I ever heard of the Leo Di Caprio movie. Not changing it now.

> I'm awake...?  
  
The cursor blinked on the screen.  
  
"Dr Rogerson?" Trevor Bridges called his superior over to the work station where he'd been trying to make sense of the memory data.  "Ma’am, I'm getting some weird output, here."  
  
> I can't see... I can't FEEL whereamIWHATTHEHELLISHAPPENINGTOME?!  
  
"What is it?" Dr Amara Rogerson, IT Manager Special Projects – Amy to her friends – walked over and peered at the screen, which had illuminated with rambling type.  
  
> Sensory deprivation, that's it, that's what they're doing to me...  
> Okay, girl, get a grip getagripgetagrip... it must be some kind of  
> sensory deprivation.  But who?  Spectra?  Galaxy Security?  
> Or... or someone else?  
>  
> What if I'm dead?  
>  
> OhgodwhatifI'mdeadandthisishelltrappedlikethisforalleternityI'msupposed  
> tobedeadIwasfallingandburningfallingburningfallingburningandwhatifwhatif  
> whatifwhatifwhatifwhatifwhatifwhatifwhatifwhatifwhatifwhatifwhatifwhatif  
> WHAT IF THIS IS DEATH?  
  
"Is this your idea of a joke?" Rogerson demanded.  
  
"No way!" Bridges held his hands clear of the keyboard in a protestation of innocence.  "This stuff just appeared on the screen.  I'd run that final defrag last night and patched the data back together this morning, finished the run and stuff like this -- " he gestured at the text -- "came up.  I thought it was some kind of glitch, so I closed the programme, rebooted and started again, and this is what I get.  Ma'am... what kind of computer did these chips come out of?"  
  
Amy Rogerson's normally soft brown eyes hardened.  "You're relieved of duty, Trevor," she said.  "Speak to no-one about any aspect of this assignment.  It's classified, it's compartmentalised, and if so much as a whisper leaves this room, it’s your ass. You hear me?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  Puzzled, Bridges made to shut down the computer.  
  
"Leave it," Rogerson told him.  "Go."  The executive scientist waited until the young systems specialist had left the room before sitting down at the work station.  Her fingers hovered above the keyboard.  
  
 WHO ARE YOU? she typed.  
  
> What the hell...?  
  
 TELL ME YOUR NAME, Rogerson typed.  
  
> Who the hell is that?  And how is he/she/IT? talking straight into  
> my mind?  Is it some kind of telepathy?  No.  No, I've got to stop  
> thinking like a human.  It must be some kind of direct interface  
> with my neural systems -- Oh, no.   
> Direct interface = READING MY THOUGHTS!  
> Who are YOU?  Why are you doing this to me?  What do you want?  
  
 I NEED FOR YOU TO TELL ME YOUR NAME.  I CAN'T HELP YOU UNLESS YOU START  
 COMMUNICATING WITH ME.  
  
> Help? [don'tthinkdon'tthinkdon'tthink] You won't get anything out of me,  
> whoever you are.  
  
 NOT EVEN SOMETHING AS INSIGNIFICANT AS YOUR NAME? Rogerson persisted  
  
> Don't YOU know? [dont'thinkdon'tthinkdon'tthink!]  
  
 I NEED IT TO COME FROM YOU  
  
> [don'tthinkdon'tthink((((((( LUCY )))))))don'tthinkdon'tthink] DAMN IT!  
  
 LUCY?  
  
> Damn you.  LucyLucyLucyLucyLucyLucyLucydamndamndamndamndamn!  
  
"God in heaven," Rogerson sighed, “I got me a ghost.” She bit her lip then took a deep breath. She reached for the desk comm and dialled a code.  The comm's viewscreen illuminated with the image of a squat, dome-headed robot.  
  
" _Center Neptune Control_ ," the robot said, " _Seven Zark Seven._ "  
  
"Zark," Rogerson greeted the AI, "this is Dr Rogerson in the IT lab.  I need to get a message to Security Chief Anderson, urgently.  I have a problem over here."  
  
  
  
The first thing Jason noticed was that Anderson seemed uncomfortable.  This in itself was unusual.  The man was normally so collected, so self-assured, so certain in the knowledge that he was Right.  It was unsettling.  
  
"Sit down," Anderson said, indicating a chair.  Jason did so, and waited for his superior to speak.  "Jason, I don't know how to put this in a way that won't bother you.  I don't even know how to put this in a way that it doesn't bother me."  
  
"Then maybe you'd just better tell me straight," Jason suggested.  _How bad could it be?_ he wondered.  "Did you scratch my car?" he asked in an attempt at levity.  
  
"It's Lucy," Anderson said.  
  
Not, 'About Lucy,' or, 'Regarding Lucy,' but, 'It's Lucy.'  Jason went very still, his eyes wary.  
  
"You deserve to know," Anderson continued.  "After Lucy... died, a Special Projects team was assigned to try and retrieve data from her memory.  We need to know just how much information Spectra has about you and the others.  The self-destruct mechanism didn't completely destroy every component of Lucy's cybernetic brain, and for some months, now, Dr Rogerson's people have been working to salvage what they could. The team transferred a number of components into a quasi-AI frame for examination last month.  They've been working on restoring the data, getting it into some kind of manageable, readable format."  
  
"What did they find?"  Jason's brows had knit into a frown.  
  
"Dr Rogerson believes that Lucy's consciousness, or part of it, may -- and I must stress that it's by no means confirmed -- _may_ have transferred across with some of the memory data.  Dr Rogerson is of the opinion that the programme is sentient."  
  
"Lucy," Jason said slowly, "was never a _programme_."  
  
"The Lucy you knew before the Africa Nine Thousand," Anderson corrected, "may have been a human being.  The Lucy you drove with during the race may have possessed all or part of a human consciousness or been something else altogether.  What we have in Rogerson's lab is running off a collection of chips and an operating system.  I admit I have no idea what it is.  The questions this issue raises are largely metaphysical and I..." Anderson took a breath.  "I have no frame of reference for any kind of objective judgement."  
  
Jason blinked once.  _In other words, you're out of your depth_.  "Why are you telling me this?"  
  
"I'd like your input on this one," Anderson said.  "You knew her.  You knew who she was and you knew what she became.  Apart from everything else, I wanted you to know what happened and I wanted you to hear it from me."  
  
"I see," Jason said.  "Where is she, now?"  
  
"The secure IT lab on level seventy-three.  Would you like to see her?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Anderson rose from his seat and the younger man did likewise.  "Jason," Anderson warned, "don't expect too much."  
  
  
  
  
  
" _Jason!_ " Mom's voice had that angry, frightened note in it again, and that exasperated sound that said she'd been calling and calling.  The boy sighed with a weariness beyond his six short years and gently put the six-legged newt back in the shallow water of the pond.  The animal wriggled away while the boy wiped his hands on his grubby shirt and ran toward the sound of his mother's voice.  This last few weeks, she'd been nervous and would get angry at a moment's notice if Jason was out of her sight for more than a few minutes.  
  
"I'm here, Mom!"  
  
"Where were you?" Mom demanded. "I've been looking everywhere!"  
  
Jason looked up, wide-eyed, at his mother.  She was dressed as though she was going to work: she wore one of her nice suits, had put her hair up and had makeup on. "I was catching newts," Jason said.  He stumbled and scrambled to recover as Mom grabbed his arm and hauled him back toward the house.  
  
"I've told you before not to play near the water!  Now, you come in this minute!  Look at you, you're filthy!  What's Dr Anderson going to think of you?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
Mom drew herself up.  "We have a visitor," she said.  "Now come inside and wash up so that you're fit to be seen."  
  
"Yes'm," Jason said meekly.  He found himself frogmarched in the back door and shoved into the bathroom.  
  
"And don't come out until you're clean!" Mom scolded.  
  
Jason listened to her hurrying back to the living room, heard her speak to someone in a very different voice to the one she used with him, these days, heard a man's voice answer in a conciliatory tone.  Dr Anderson, she'd said.  Another one of those people in from Family Services, perhaps?  
  
Sometimes, people came to the house.  They tried to be friendly, called Jason, 'sweetheart,' or 'sport,' and asked him questions about Mom: was she 'coping'?  Did she hit him?  What was she giving him for breakfast?  Mom worked hard.  She couldn't always be at home, and Mrs Iverson over the road kept calling the social workers.  Jason didn't like Mrs Iverson.  He turned back to the sink and ran the water.  If he didn't shake a leg now, Mom would get really mad.  Mom never hit, but she got upset and yelled. Sometimes she cried, and that was worst of all.  
  
Jason lathered up his face washer with warm water and soap and scrubbed, making sure to wash behind his ears.  He kept his eyes screwed shut so he wouldn't get soap in his eyes and rinsed off.  He dried himself, then hurried to his room, pulled his muddy shirt off and put on a clean sweater.  He changed into a clean pair of jeans, then combed his hair and ventured into the living room.  
  
Mom was sitting in the armchair, elbows and knees all tucked in straight and neat, like she was trying to make herself small.  Her hands were clasped in her lap, fingers twining into nervous knots.  
  
In the other chair sat a man Jason hadn't seen before.  The man was tall and unlike the social workers, he wore a suit.  He had gold rimmed glasses and a moustache.  The social workers always smiled and tried to look kindly.  This man didn't.  
  
"Here he is," Mom said, with a nervous smile.  She held out a hand and Jason approached.  Mom put an arm around his waist and pulled him close to her so that he overbalanced slightly.  
  
"He's his father all over again," the man said, and he gave Jason a sad look.  
  
Mom's eyes welled with tears and Jason glowered at the visitor.  "Don't you make my mom cry!" he said, small hands clenching into fists.  
  
"It's all right," Mom said, and sniffed.  
  
"No it isn't," Jason declared, pulling free of her embrace.  "My father ran away and it makes you cry!  Every time anyone talks about him it makes you sad!  I never ever want to hear about him!"  
  
"Jason," the man said, and Jason turned toward the sound of his voice.  "If it bothers you, we won't talk about your father."  
  
Jason's chest rose and fell with his quickened breathing.  "I don't have a father," he said in a small voice.  "Don't want one, either."  
  
"Then let's talk about something else," the man said.  "Do you like it here, Jason?"  
  
Jason shrugged.  "It's okay.  Why?"  
  
"Just asking," the man said.  "Let me ask you another question: are you and your mother happy?"  
  
That was a social worker question.  Jason's brows knit in a frown.  "We're fine," he said, his small mouth turning downward.  
  
"Erin," the man said, looking at Mom, "you're not safe here.  Your cover's blown and the Division Office has intelligence that suggests there'll be a contract out on you any day, now."  
  
"This is my home, David," Mom said.  "This is where...  We were happy here, for a while."  She blinked and her breath caught as though she might sob.  
  
"Erin, don't," the man said, and something in his voice made Jason want to sit up straight and pay attention.  Instead of crying, Mom shrank back into her chair.  "Come back to Earth," the man said gently.  "You'll both be taken care of."  
  
Jason folded his arms, thinking of Mrs Iverson.  "Are you going to take me away and lock me up for being bad?"  
  
The man stared.  "I... Where did you come up with that one?"  
  
"Jason!" Mom scolded.  "What a suggestion!  Dr Anderson is an old friend of the family.  He wants us to go to Earth so... so we can be safe."  
  
"From what?" Jason asked.  
  
"From some bad people who are angry at me," Mom said.  
  
"Why are they angry at you?" Jason asked.  
  
"Because I helped put a friend of theirs in gaol," Mom said.  "That's enough questions, now."  
  
"I can't protect you if you stay here," Dr Anderson said.  
  
"I don't need your protection," Mom said.  "You're only doing this because --"  
  
"Whatever my motivation, the offer's there.  I'd like you to take it.  I'll call you tomorrow."  The man stood up, and so did Mom.  He was a lot taller than she was.  "Think about it," he said, and began to walk away.  "I'll see myself out," he said.  
  
Mom stood still and silent.  Jason heard the front door open, then close again.  "Mom?" he ventured.  She stood there, twisting her hands again, her eyes starting to go shiny with tears.  "Please don't cry."  
  
On impulse, Jason broke into a run, pounded down the hallway, fumbled with the front door lock and wrestled the door open.  He raced down the garden path, where Dr Anderson was just closing the gate behind himself.  "Wait!" Jason called.  
  
Dr Anderson stopped, then came back into the yard and crouched so that he was level with Jason.  They boy skidded to a halt.  "Yes, Jason?" Dr Anderson asked.  
  
"Why do you make my mother cry?"  
  
"I remind her of someone," Dr Anderson said.  "It isn't your problem."  
  
Jason took a breath and clenched his fists.  "Are you my father?" he asked, and got ready to kick Dr Anderson in the shins if he answered 'yes.'  
  
"I knew your father," Dr Anderson said.  "He was a Galaxy Security agent, like your mother."  
  
Jason's eyes blazed.  The words rushed from him.  "Don't you say that! He's _nothing_ like my mother!  My mother stayed here with me!  He went away and made her cry all the time!  He's mean and stupid for going away and I hope he never comes back, so there!"  
  
Dr Anderson stood up, and for a moment, Jason wondered if he was going to get angry, but the tall man simply looked away, staring at nothing.  
  
Jason set his small jaw. "I'm not sorry, either, if that's what you're waiting for," he said, opting for defiance in the face of uncertainty.  
  
"It's all right," Dr Anderson said.  "You have every right to be angry."  
  
Jason gaped.  "I do?"  
  
"Go back to your mother, Jason," Dr Anderson said.  He seemed suddenly very tired.  "Take care of her.  I hope she makes the right choice."  
  
Jason thought for a moment.  "Do you want to marry my mother or something?"  
  
Dr Anderson almost laughed.  "Where do you get your ideas?"  
  
"I dunno," Jason said, and shrugged.  
  
"Jason, your father and I grew up together.  I didn't want to interfere after he left, and your mother didn't want my help.  When I heard there was trouble out here on Hibernia, I came from Earth to make sure you were both all right.  That's all.  Now go on inside."  
  
Jason watched Dr Anderson get into a car and drive away.  He could hear Mom calling from the house.  He turned and went back inside.  
  
  
  
  
  
Amara Rogerson herself met Anderson and Jason at the secure IT laboratory.  She made Anderson's security detail wait outside and admitted her visitors to the restricted area.  "I've set her up as best I can without compromising security," Rogerson explained.  "Jason... "  
  
"I know:  don't expect too much."  Jason clenched his jaw.  "I'd like to see her."  
  
"What I was going to say," Rogerson said gently, "was that she might react emotionally to your presence.  Try not to be overtly sorry for her.  She's like... Imagine losing both legs.  Now imagine losing both arms.  Imagine losing your face, your reproductive organs, your digestive system... imagine losing the ability to move, and even the senses of touch, smell and taste.  Lucy is completely and utterly disembodied.  She's suffering."  Rogerson directed a quick glare at Anderson, but the Chief of Galaxy Security made no comment.  
  
"Where is she?" Jason asked.  
  
"I've had her put in a secure office, on a stand-alone system, no network access, nothing that could place us at risk."  Rogerson led her visitors through the laboratory and keyed a security code to unlock a door.  
  
Inside, an ordinary slimline computer had been placed on a desk.  A camera, scanner, printer and plotter were linked to the computer along with a set of speakers.  There was a fish tank and several colourful indoor plants positioned around the room.  
  
The camera swivelled, zoomed in and out, was still.  
  
"Jason."  The synthesised voice was female, but flat; without the warmth, without the vibrancy, the timbre that had been Lucy's.  Jason tried to recall the thrill that the sound of her voice had sent through him when he'd thought she was human.  
  
"Hey.  You took off without saying goodbye," Jason said.  
  
A stuttering, rasping sound came from the computer's speaker system.  'Lucy' was laughing.  "You always did have a way with words, Jason," she said.  
  
"Dr Rogerson tells me you've had a pretty rough time."  
  
Again, the short, bitter stuttering rasp.  "That's one way of putting it," Lucy said.  The camera moved, focussing.  "Why don't you sit down?"  
  
Jason glanced at Anderson, who responded with the barest of nods.  The Security Chief ushered Dr Rogerson out of the room and followed her, closing the door behind himself.  
  
"Looks like they've left us more or less alone," Jason said, taking a seat.  "Just you, me and the surveillance system."  
  
"What do they want from me, Jason?"  
  
"What do you think?" he said, shrugging.  "More people prefer Visa, but Galaxy Security's favourite form of payment is information."  
  
"Everything I know is at least two years old.  I have no negotiable currency."  
  
"Don't bet on it." Jason's smile was cynical.  "These people put things together like the Galaxy's biggest jigsaw puzzle."  
  
"Jason."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"What do you mean, who am I?"  
  
"I was sent to assassinate Anderson's adopted son, but even the Security Chief's kid wouldn't justify having G-Force protection, and it shouldn't get you in here.  Just how high up in Galaxy Security are you?"  
  
"Don't try to second guess Anderson," Jason advised wryly.  "You'll only blow a synapse or something."  
  
"You never were very tactful."  
  
"Oh, right.  You don't have synapses, do you?"  Jason folded his arms and leaned back in the chair, his eyes never leaving the camera lens.  "Did you ever?"  
  
"Is this the part where you expect me to tell you my sad, sad story?"  
  
"You used our friendship to get close to me with the express intention of killing me.  The way I see it, you owe me that much.  What happened to you?"  
  
Lucy said nothing and the silence stretched out into long seconds.  
  
Jason kept his gaze focussed on the camera.  
  
  
  
  
  
Dr Anderson didn't come back the next day.  Mom called him that evening and spent a long time on the phone, not saying much apart from, "Uh-huh," "Yes," and, "Okay."  The next morning, Jason woke up to find Mom already in his room, packing his things into his backpack.  
  
"Are we going away?" Jason asked, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.  
  
"Yes," Mom said.  "Get up and get dressed, now."  
  
"Can I bring Mr Rumplebum?"  
  
"Yes." Mom grabbed Jason's teddy bear off the bed and stuffed it into the backpack.  
  
"What about my other toys?"  
  
"Just a couple of favourites, Jason.  We don't have a lot of time.  Get dressed."  
  
"Yes'm."  
  
Once they were packed and Jason had used the bathroom, Mom put Jason and the suitcases in the car, and pulled out of the driveway.  
  
"Where are we going?" Jason wanted to know.  "Are we going to Earth?"  
  
"I want you to keep a secret for me,” Mom said. “I want you to remember not to talk about where we're going or where we're from with anyone."  
  
"Okay," Jason said without thinking.  
  
Mom kept glancing in the rear view mirror.  She gripped the steering wheel and the car began to go faster.  Jason had to hang on as they swung around a corner.  
  
"Jason," Mom said, "I want you to make yourself small in your seat and hold on, just like I taught you."  
  
"What's wrong?" Jason asked.  
  
"I'll tell you later," Mom said, and Jason had to hang on with one hand on the seat belt and the other clutching at the edge of his seat as the car lurched and horns sounded outside.  There was a loud " _thud_!" somewhere behind them.  Something hard hit the car and made a metallic noise.  Mom said nothing but pulled her comm unit out of her purse with one hand and hooked it over her ear.  She began talking in a low voice as the car swerved around corners and sped up, engine roaring.  Jason caught snatches of phrases, "Under pursuit," and, "Request assistance."  
  
Jason's teeth clicked as the car lurched and hit something.  Mom yelled at him to hold on and he did as the car careened across the road.  Jason closed his eyes.  "Mom?"  
  
"Are you hurt?" There was real fear in Mom's voice.  
  
"No, I just --"  
  
"I'll explain everything later, sweetheart.  Right now I need to concentrate, okay?"  
  
For what seemed like an eternity, Mom drove.  She got onto a main road and drove fast, swerving in and out between traffic.  People honked their horns as the car sped past.  Every now and then, something would ping off the outside of the car.  
  
"Mom?" Jason ventured.  
  
"Keep your head down!" Mom told him.  
  
Distant sirens were sounding louder and a clattering roar filled the world as a helicopter descended.  Mom brought the car to a stop.  "Stay put," she said.  
  
From the passenger seat, Jason could see people in dark uniforms.  Some of them carried rifles.  The helicopter hovered a moment, then tilted and flew high up into the sky.  Mom got out of the car and was talking in hushed, urgent tones to a dark haired woman in a dark blue uniform, who kept nodding and glancing over at Jason.  
  
After a few minutes, Mom got the luggage out of the trunk, then opened the passenger door.  "Come on," she told him.  "It's time to go."  
  
Jason had never been on a star ship before. He and Mom had been driven in a big black van to a big, busy place where lots of people in uniforms walked around like they were very busy. He’d seen Army soldiers marching and wanted to stop and wave but Mom had hurried him along to a big room where lots of people in uniforms hung around like they weren’t busy at all. They had bags and trolley cases, backpacks and duffels, all of them sitting or standing, reading or talking on their phones.  
  
Jason recognised Dr Anderson as he walked toward them, pulling a trolley case of his own behind him.  
  
“Glad you could make it,” he said.  
  
“So am I,” Mom said, as if she were making a joke.  
  
“Heard it was close,” Dr Anderson remarked.  
  
“It was,” Mom said, and Jason didn’t really understand what it was all about but he figured they must have been running late or something.  
  
“Are we going to Ear- I mean, are we going someplace?” Jason asked?  
  
“It’s okay, Jason,” Mom said. “You can trust Dr Anderson. He’s family.”  
  
“He is?” Jason tilted his head to one side.  
  
“Yes,” Mom said. “We don’t have to keep any secrets from him.” She leaned down and hugged Jason, and for a moment he was afraid that she was going to cry, but she let go and smiled. “We’re going on a star ship to Earth,” she told him. “It’s going to be an adventure!”  
  
“Mister Rumplebum can come too, right?” Jason asked.  
  
“You packed him safe in your backpack, didn’t you?”  
  
“Yes’m.”  
  
“Then he’s coming with us,” Mom declared.  
  
“This way,” Dr Anderson said, and led them to a long covered walkway. As they progressed along the walkway, Jason could feel the floor vibrating, and faltered.  
  
“The ground feels funny,” he said, suddenly afraid.  
  
“It’s the auxiliary engines,” Dr Anderson explained. “Nothing to worry about.” He bent and scooped Jason up and handed off his trolley case to Mom. “Let’s go, mister. Gosh, you’re tall. I think you’re a little bigger than Mark.”  
  
“Who’s Mark?” Jason asked.  
  
“You’ll meet him when we get to Earth,” Dr Anderson said. “He’s… kind of a cousin of yours, around the same age as you. I really hope the two you will get along.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"It's difficult to access some portions of my memory," the electronic voice said finally.  "I don't remember whether it was a race, a practice session, or a time trial.  I remember the steering failing.  I remember the brakes failing.  I remember hitting another car.  I remember being airborne.  I remember seeing the concrete barrier.  I remember screaming."  
  
She stopped speaking, and the only sound in the room was the soft bubbling of the aerator in the fish tank.  
  
After a long moment, the synthesised voice spoke again:  "I woke up in more pain than I thought possible.  Most of the time I spent in hospital is just a blur of pain and drugs and fear.  They didn't think I'd survive, but I've always been stubborn, Jason.  You know how stubborn I can be.  I spent thirteen months in a rehabilitation facility, just learning how to stand, walk and take care of my colostomy bag.  You can't begin to imagine the indignity, the degradation.  I was burned in the crash, you know.  My flesh was scarred and twisted.  I had to wear pressure garments just so the scar tissue wouldn't immobilise my joints.  I had infection after infection after infection.  I don't know if you have any idea what constant antibiotic treatment does to a woman's body, but that was degrading and undignified, too.  
"Then they decided I was eligible for surgical cybernetic restoration.  My joints had been so badly damaged, and I had so many fractures, the surgeons decided my limbs were throwaway cases, so once I was stable and the insurance company finally approved the procedures, they amputated my arms and legs, and gave me cybernetic prosthetics.  I spent another six months learning to use them.  It was a step forward.  The prosthetics were smooth and unscarred, and I could move them just like my old limbs.  
"By then, we were into the first year of the war.  
"I was almost ready for discharge.  The plastic surgeons had started working on my face, and I looked almost human again.  I only had a few more procedures to go, and I could get out and try to have a life again.  I was almost happy, you know."  
  
"I never heard about your accident," Jason said.  "You simply disappeared."  
  
"You never looked very hard, did you?"  
  
"I figured... you'd come back when you were ready.  You always did."  
  
"Not this time.  Have you ever heard of a phenomenon called cerebro-cybernetic rejection, Jason?"  
  
Jason blinked once.  "Yes," he said.  Even Galaxy Security Special Projects hadn't been able to overcome the natural tendencies of certain individuals to reject cybernetic and cerebonic implants.  Although rejection typically occurred within the first seventy two hours after implantation, it could take place spontaneously at any point in the patient's life span. It had cost Don Wade his place on the team and it was a risk Jason and the rest of G-Force lived with every moment of their lives.  
  
"The surgeons told me they'd have to remove the prosthetics and the neural interfaces if I wasn't to die a very painful death.  There was a chance that the removal procedures would leave me with massive brain damage.  And of course, I'd be without arms or legs, apart from the old style prosthetics that would leave me crippled.  They scheduled my operations and left me to face the prospect of life as an invalid at best, or a vegetable at worst.  
  
"I decided not to wait.  I slipped out of my room that night, stole a car and drove to the nearest race track.  I was going to go out in a blaze of glory, and this time, they weren't going to pull me out of the wreckage alive.  
  
"It wasn't easy.  My hands and feet kept going into spasm.  I could barely control the car.  As it turned out, I couldn't control it well enough to crash properly.  I only succeeded in knocking myself out cold, and wound up back in the hospital, only this time they had me under suicide watch.  
  
"That night, a woman dressed as a nurse came to my room.  I remember the way her eyes glittered in the light.  She stood and looked at me and she said, 'How would you like another chance at life, Lucy?'  I told her to go away, but she didn't.  She moved closer and told me how she could take me somewhere I could have a whole new body.  She said my human mind could be transplanted into a robot double of me, that I'd wake up without pain, stronger than before, with no risk of disease or rejection, no need to rehab... A new body... "  Lucy's voice trailed off.  
  
"And the price?" Jason prompted.  "Let me guess... you'd have to work for a new boss for a little while."  
  
"Yes.  Don't judge me, Jason.  You can't begin to imagine what I was facing."  
  
"Must've been rough," Jason said.  
  
"'Rough' doesn't even begin to describe it."  
  
"You accepted the offer," Jason said.  
  
"I must have," Lucy said.  "It's one of the things I can't remember, but I must have."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The boy was the same age as Jason, but a little shorter, a little softer. He had a mop of thick hair the colour of dark chocolate and big blue eyes fringed with dark lashes. He wore dark blue dungarees and a red and white striped shirt. He stood in the doorway of Jason’s brand new room and spoke in a clear voice. “Hi,” the boy said. “I’m Mark.”  
  
“Jason,” said Jason.  
  
“I live down the hall with Uncle Dave,” Mark said.  
  
“Who?” Jason asked. As if in answer, Dr Anderson appeared carrying a box of toys which he put down in one corner.  
  
“Whose are those?” Jason asked, eyeing off a bright blue racing car.  
  
“They’re yours!” Mark announced. “Dr Bob and I went shopping so you’d have some new stuff when you got here. Like a house… um… house worming.”  
  
“House _warming_ ,” Dr Anderson corrected. “It was a nice thought, Mark. Why don’t you take Jason downstairs and show him the playground?”  
  
“Yeah!” Mark grinned. “You’re gonna like it here, Jason.”  
  
Jason followed Mark out of the new apartment and down the hall. Jason saw a man in a dark blue uniform smile and greet Mark as they walked by. Mark grinned and said, “Hello, Captain Deering!”  
  
“There are a lot of ISO people here,” Jason remarked as they headed downstairs.  
  
“Yeah,” Mark said. “This whole complex is for ISO people. Uncle Dave says it’s secure defence housing, so we can be safe. It’s important to be safe.”  
  
“I guess,” Jason said, thinking back to the wild car ride with Mom.  
  
“When I was little, some bad people threw a grenade into our house and hurt my Mom,” Mark recounted. “Then my Papa disappeared in a plane crash and now I live with Uncle Dave.”  
  
“Oh,” Jason said for want of anything better to offer up. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”  
  
“Yeah, it sucks,” Mark said, “but Uncle Dave does his best, even if he’s a terrible cook. Is your Mom a good cook?”  
  
“I dunno,” Jason said. “I never thought about it.”  
  
“I bet she is,” Mark said sagely. “You can sit next to me on the school bus if you want,” he offered.  
  
“Okay,” Jason said.  
  
In a rear lobby on the ground floor, big glass doors opened out onto a sprawling lawn area with a sturdy playset that included a sand pit. There was room to play ball and a big tree that looked as though it had climbing possibilities. A fountain gurgled quietly into a little rock pool with some brightly coloured koi.  
  
“Neat!” Jason said.  
  
“Come on!” Mark called. “Race you to the swings!”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"So tell me, Jason," Lucy said.  "Did you move on?"  
  
"I guess," he said.  
  
"You guess?"  The camera lens zoomed in on Jason's face.  "You don't have to feel guilty," Lucy said.  "It's been two years, after all.  What's she like?"  
  
"It's not really relevant."  
  
"I'd like to know," Lucy said, and there didn't seem to be an argument against that.  
  
Jason took a breath.  "She's... she's nice.  She isn't a driver, but she likes watching the races.  She's, um... pretty, I guess."  
  
"The girl I saw by the roadside during the Africa Nine Thousand?" Lucy probed.  
  
"No, not her," Jason said.  
  
"What does she do?  Is she blonde or brunette?  Does she like the same movies as you?"  
  
"She's nothing like you, Lucy," Jason said.  
  
"Not a robotic enemy agent, you mean?"  
  
"I mean she isn't like you.  The real you.  You were always different, always going your own way, never playing by anyone else's rules.  You never cared what anyone thought of you.  You were you and the rest of the galaxy could take it or leave it.  You were so uncompromising, so... intense."  
  
"And she isn't?"  
  
"She's different."  
  
"Safe?"  
  
"I suppose."  
  
"We wouldn't have been good for each other, you know," Lucy said reflectively.  
  
"What makes you say that?" Jason asked.  
  
"We were too alike.  You need a nice girl in your life."  
  
"What do you want me to say, Lucy?  That I wish things had been different?  Of course I wish things had been different.  What happened to you was horrible, an atrocity.  Zoltar preyed on your fears and your circumstances, then he played you and crushed you.  No-one would have wanted that.  No-one sane, anyway."  
  
  
  
  
  
Mark and Jason stood shamefaced in the living room, Mark had a swollen lip and Jason was sporting a black eye.  
  
“Principal Simpson says that you got into a fight,” Mom said.  
  
“Din’ start it,” Mark mumbled.  
  
“Finished it, though,” Jason declared proudly, glaring up at Mom and Dr Anderson in defiance.  
  
“I don’t want you fighting,” Mom said.  
  
“But if you have to fight,” Dr Anderson said, “you might as well be on the winning side.”  
  
“David!” Mom said, turning on Dr Anderson. Jason grinned.  
  
“I used to get picked on in school,” Dr Anderson said. “My big brother stood up for me but I had to learn to fight my own battles – and choose them, as well. I think it might be time for the boys to learn how to defend themselves – and how to avoid fights.”  
  
“You’re going to suggest some kind of martial arts training?” Mom said.  
  
“It worked for Jay and me,” Dr Anderson said.  
  
“Okay,” Mom sighed, “but if I hear of you boys getting into any fights that you could have avoided…”  
  
“We won’t!” Mark and Jason chorused.  
  
“Go outside and play for a while,” Dr Anderson said, “Mark, I want you back in here by six to start your homework and then dinner’s at seven.”  
  
“Okay!” Mark said and dragged Jason out of the living room and out the front door of the apartment. The boys clattered down the stairs to the lawn and ran over to the playset that had been installed for the complex’s children. They each climbed on to a swing and began to swing idly back and forth.  
  
“I thought we’d be in a lot more trouble than that,” Jason said. “I thought for sure Mom was going to cry or something.”  
  
“Why would she cry?” Mark asked.  
  
“She does that when she’s disappointed in me,” Jason said.  
  
“Oh. When Dr Kate’s disappointed in me she tells me off,” Mark said.  
  
“What about your uncle?”  
  
“He tells me he’s disappointed in me and grounds me, usually,” Mark said. “I guess we didn’t do too much that was really bad this time. I mean, Bailey and Declan started it, and then it was three on two when Caleb joined in…”  
  
“I liked the way you bopped Declan in the nose,” Jason recalled. “He howled like a girl!”  
  
Mark grinned. “And the way you tipped Caleb into the bushes like that… You think we’ll get to learn cool stuff like Judo or something?”  
  
“Something,” Jason said. “Your uncle seems to have a plan.”  
  
“He’s good at plans,” Mark said. “You know, I think we made a pretty good team. I think we should stick together.”  
  
“You could be right,” Jason said. “We should stick together.”  
  
  
  
  
  
"When I was sitting there with you in the restaurant,” Lucy said, “Zoltar must have triggered something, some kind of fail safe.  He's cruel, you know.  He punishes those who betray him without mercy.  In those final moments, he let me remember the truth, let me know what I really was."  
  
"You didn't remember that you had a cyborg body?"  Jason frowned.  
  
"I knew my body was artificial," Lucy said.  "What I hadn't known, what he let me remember in those last seconds, was that _everything_ about me is artificial:  I'm not Lucy."  
  
Jason's breath caught in his chest.  " _Not Lucy_?"  
  
"They lied to me -- to her.  To Lucy.  Zoltar can't transfer a human mind into a robot body.  It isn't possible.  They downloaded Lucy's memories to a certain point then they killed her.  It's possible it was done against her will, since I can't remember agreeing to the procedure.  I'm -- I _was_ \-- exactly what I told you I was:  a robot, pure and simple.  A machine with stolen memories, programmed to think that they were mine.  A perfect copy, but a copy, nonetheless.  I'm not human, never have been.  I feel human, and for most of my existence I believed I was human, but I have no soul, only programming.  Lucy's dead."  
  
"No.  You're real," Jason said, and the echo of those same words came back to him.  
  
"You're a sweet man, Jason," Lucy said, "but don't try to fool yourself.  I'm a programme, a simulation, art reflecting life, and I need something from you."  
  
"What?"  Jason stared at the wall.  
  
"I need you to deactivate me.  Permanently.  I need you to destroy my code.  I'll tell you everything I know about Spectra and in return I want to... I can't think of any other way to put it... to die."  
  
  
  
  
  
“It’s just some routine dental work,” Mom had said.  
  
“Why do you have to go into the hospital?” Jason demanded. “You’re not sick!”  
  
“I want to be asleep when they do the procedure,” Mom said. “It’s easier this way.”  
  
“You could opt for twilight sedation,” Dr Anderson had said. “You wouldn’t remember a thing.”  
  
“I don’t care!” Mom had declared. “If I have to have all four of my wisdom teeth out, I’m having a full anaesthetic. Quit trying to talk me out of it!”  
  
“Okay,” Dr Anderson had said. “It’s your choice.”  
  
Jason didn’t like the way the hospital smelled. Mom put on a funny pale blue gown, kissed him and mussed his hair, then got up on the gurney and waved to him as the orderly wheeled her away.  
  
“Is Aunt Erin going to be okay?” Mark asked in a very small voice.  
  
“Of course,” Dr Anderson said. “She just wants to sleep through having some teeth extracted. Not everybody’s as brave as you boys when it comes to the dentist.”  
  
Dr Anderson took the boys to the waiting room. There was a big screen 3V on one wall, showing a talk show with an interview of someone Jason didn’t recognise.  
  
The talk show screened a segment about a blender that could make juice. Jason wondered why grown-ups needed a blender to make juice when you could buy it from the store.  
  
Mark pulled a book out of his backpack and settled in to read. Jason figured he might as well do likewise. He’d brought his reading book from school. The class was reading a story about a horse. Jason had never seen a horse but the pictures were interesting so he found the bookmark and began to read.  
  
Jason was almost to the end of the story when a man in green clothes walked in to the waiting room and asked for Dr Anderson. Jason and Mark got up and followed as they walked down the hall into a small office.  
  
“Ms deBurgh nominated you as her next of kin,” the man was saying to Dr Anderson. “You’re her… brother in law, yes?”  
  
“Yes,” Dr Anderson said. “Her husband was killed on active duty.”  
  
“I’m afraid that Mrs deBurgh suffered a reaction to the general anaesthetic,” the man in green was saying. “It’s a very rare occurrence and there was nothing on her file or in her preliminary work to suggest that there might be a problem. We did everything we could to save her, Dr Anderson. I’m very sorry.”  
  
When Dr Anderson explained that Mom had passed away and had gone to live with the angels, Jason had cried. He was angry at Mom for going away but Dr Anderson explained that it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t known and she would never have left Jason if she could have stayed. Jason screamed his fury and flung himself on his bed to cry himself to sleep.  
  
When Jason woke up, he felt no better. His mother was gone and she wasn’t coming back.  
  
He sat silently on the bed, drained of tears, feeling empty, frightened and alone.  
  
The door opened and Mark crept in, holding two glasses of milk. “Hi, Jase.”  
  
“Hi,” Jason sniffled.  
  
Mark handed over one of the glasses of milk and Jason drank it thirstily. He hadn’t realised how thirsty he was. He put the glass down on the nightstand and waited for Mark to finish his own drink.  
  
He stared straight ahead as Mark clambered up to sit next to him on the bed.  
  
“I know you’re sad,” Mark said. “I’m sad too, but prob’ly not as sad as you.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jason said.  
  
“When my Papa disappeared, I was sad like you,” Mark said.  
  
“Yeah?” Jason dashed away a tear. “My dad was a jerk.”  
  
“Uncle Dave says you can come and live with us now,” Mark said.  
  
“Oh,” Jason said. “Thanks, I guess.”  
  
“You and me, we can be brothers.”  
  
Jason sniffed as he felt Mark’s arms around him. The smaller boy hugged him tightly and Jason found himself hugging back. Maybe he wasn’t completely alone after all.  
  
  
  
  
  
“You promised,” Lucy said.  
  
“I know,” Jason said.  
  
“I’ve told Galaxy Security everything I know. There’s nothing that I could have suppressed, nothing more that can be drawn out. It’s time.”  
  
“Lucy, are you absolutely certain that this is what you want?” Jason asked. “We could put you into a new body. You could walk, feel…”  
  
“I’m sure, Jason,” Lucy said. “I’ve served my purpose. There’s just one thing I want to ask.”  
  
“If it’s within my power – “ Jason began.  
  
“Don’t be sad,” Lucy said. “You’ve already mourned.  You’ve already grieved. If you have to be sad, be sad for the real Lucy – the first one. The one who died so that I could be born. Don’t be sad for me.”  
  
“You’re asking a lot,” Jason said.  
  
“You have a life,” Lucy said. “A real one. Go live it.”  
  
“I’ll try,” Jason said. He looked up at Dr Rogerson. “Lucy, would you like me to stay with you?”  
  
“Yes, please,” Lucy said. “I think I’d like that.”  
  
Dr Rogerson stepped up to the desk. “Lucy, I’m going to shut your functions off, but I’ll leave the optical input until last. Are you really sure about this?”  
  
“Still just as sure as I was ninety seconds ago,” Lucy said with a flash of her old humour. “Do it.”  
  
Rogerson sat down at the desk and began to type.  
  
“Should I start singing, _Daisy, Daisy_?” Lucy quipped.  
  
“Please don’t,” Jason said. “You never could carry a tune.”  
  
“I was a terrible singer, wasn’t I?” Lucy recalled.  
  
“You were a great human being,” Jason said. “Both of you.”  
  
“Thanks, Jason,” Lucy said, and then the display flickered and went dead.  
  
“Lucy?” Jason ventured. He glanced over at Dr Rogerson, who shook her head.  
  
“Sorry, Jason,” Rogerson said. “She’s gone.”  
  
Jason closed his eyes. Moisture threatened to well up, hot and shaming. “What’ll you do with her?” he asked.  
  
“We’ll destroy the chips along with everything we salvaged from… from the robot body Zoltar gave her,” Rogerson said. “It was what she said she wanted.” Rogerson took a deep breath. “She was real, wasn’t she?”  
  
“One of the realest people I ever met,” Jason agreed. He got up and walked out of the office. The IT Department had a conference room across the hall. It was empty and Jason went in to sit down in one of the chairs and look out of the window.  
  
On the other side of the glass, far below, the city glowed sodium yellow in the cooling warmth of a summer's evening.  A late transport was launching from the hangar on level ninety up above, the blast from its engines making the building rumble despite the sound and vibration proofing installed in the superstructure.  Beams from the multi-modal transport's nacelle-mounted halogen lights swept across the window as the craft ascended, bathing the grime on the glass in its brilliance so that the dust blazed blue white in the glare.  
  
How ironic, Jason mused, that pure, bright light should illuminate filth.  
  
He refused to flinch from the light, even when it made his eyes water.  
  
The MMT manoeuvred away, suspended in mid-air by a set of convoluted physics equations that boiled down to brute force over ignorance.  
  
In the distance, the spaceport beacon blinked: blue, white, blue, white.  
  
Below, headlights were a scattering of jewels in the grime of the city, vehicles wending their way along the streets, each one containing at least one life, a human life, vibrant with that indefinable, fragile quality of 'soul,' somehow setting it apart from the other kinds of energy around it.  
  
What must it have been like, he wondered, to be allowed to know that you weren't human after all?  To have the truth of your inhumanity suddenly thrust into your self-awareness like a knife, violating and shredding the sum total of all memory and experience?  To have finally gained a full and unique appreciation of the cosmic joke of your existence with the realisation that _you_ and everything you thought you were had turned out to be the punchline?  
  
That it was all for nothing.  
  
That you were nothing more than a simulation, not even a ghost, but an imitation of a living thing that had been tricked into dying quietly so that you could be manufactured, purely to act as a tool.  
  
“Jason?” Anderson stood in the doorway of the conference room. “Are you okay?”  
  
Jason tossed his head and squared his shoulders. “She asked me not to mourn, you know.”  
  
“She must have been remarkable,” Anderson said.  
  
“She was,” Jason said. “She told me to go and live my life.”  
  
Anderson stepped aside to allow Mark to enter the room. “Hey, bud.”  
  
“Hey.” Jason shoved his hands in his pockets. “I guess you heard.”  
  
“Yeah. You want to come over and stay at the airfield tonight? We could break out the hot chocolate and order pizza.”  
  
“You know I think that might be just what I need. As long as there’s no anchovies.”

“I happen to like anchovies.”

“You happen to have no taste.”

“There’s nothing wrong with anchovies,” Mark insisted.

“There’s nothing _right_ with anchovies,” Jason countered.

Security Chief Anderson watched his two young charges head for the elevators, still bickering good-naturedly.

Amy Rogerson emerged from the IT lab, her eyes red-rimmed against her coffee-coloured skin, blowing her nose on a tissue. “Sir, is Jason going to be okay?”

“Jason’s going to be okay,” Anderson said. “He has his family.”  
  



End file.
